


Fuel for the Fire

by russiansimp



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Devient, Cultural homophobia, Firelord Zuko, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Ignoring LOK, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Non canon compliant, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Post-Canon, Self-Hatred, Zukaang - Freeform, Zukaang Renaissance, Zukaang Week 2020, Zuko is afraid, canon if you squint, it gets sad..., really only vaguely canon, they find Ursa !
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25545127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russiansimp/pseuds/russiansimp
Summary: They kept in that precise dance for hours, and in those hours, Zuko had to notice something: he hadn't touched Aang’s fire inyears, and it felt so different than it used to. His inner flame itself has changed. But he couldn't figure out how, not right away. But soon, it crept into his head that it wasn't the fire itself that was different, it was the fuel. No longer was Aang’s element coming from determination, fear, even anger. No… now it was coming from…Love.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar) (Mentioned), Aang/Zuko (Avatar), Ikem/Ursa (Avatar)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 224





	1. Exhaustion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, vets from _Who Are You, Really? _! Due to popular demand and Zukaang Week 2020 I bring you something that doesn't involve the blue spirit!__

The Avatar was a marvel. That much was plain for anyone to see, bender or not, friend or foe. Whether fighting him, training him, or simply watching him go about some menial task that shouldn't be near as interesting as he seems to make it, it was undeniable that the young air bender was enticing to be around.

Zuko remembered, when they had met face-to-face for the very first time so many years ago, that he was just a child. A child that would be immature, brash, but now that he looked back on it, he wasn't so much older, and he wasn't so much wiser. In fact, the Fire Lord could admit to the opposite being true. Aang was an old soul, by the very definition of the word. Sometimes, he wondered if it was Aang talking to him, or some other incarnation of the Avatar lost to the past. He never asked, though, it wasn't quite his place. Though, if he ever said anything particularly mothering, he would ask if it was his great-grandfather talking. It had always been a joke, but the one time that it actually was, he decided that he would stop asking.

It had been after a particularly brutal assassination attempt, leaving the Fire Lord bedridden for weeks on end. Aang had come into his room, unannounced, and to a medley of concerned guards telling him to leave Zuko alone. “How could you be so reckless?” He had asked, his brows furrowed down.

“I’m okay,” Zuko insisted, offering a weak smile. “There were only a few minor injuries.” Aang didn't look any less upset, nor did Zuko think that was enough to get him to let go. “I won out in the end, didn't I?”

“I don't care that you won out! You put yourself in a compromising position, and now you’re bedridden for weeks and open to more attacks!” He reasoned. Zuko hummed, closing his eyes.

“Got my grandfather behind the wheel?” He teased. He did not, however, expect the answer to come in a layered voice, with Aang's eyes and tattoos pulsing white.

Yeah, he stopped joking about it then.

It was a month or so after that, when Zuko was no longer bedridden, that he had felt Aang clap his hands over his shoulders as he pored over several scrolls piled up on his desk. “How would you feel about a break, Sifu Hotman?”

“Does it look like I can afford a break right now?” Zuko chuckled, rubbing his face. Aang knew his words betrayed what they were meant to hide, his desperate need to pry himself from paperwork and diplomacies and stuffy indoor air.

“Come on, we haven’t sparred in… what, a year? A year and a half? Pretty please?”

“Aang…”

“Avatar’s orders,” he grinned. That always seemed to work, even though in conflation, Zuko greatly outranked him. “Come on.”

Zuko groaned as he was pulled up, rolling his eyes. “Hold on, hold on. Let me get in proper clothes,” he urged. Aang nodded, stepping out to allow him to do so. Aang, with his ever present people pleasing self, had made good friends with the two guards that worked in the palace that weren't Kyoshi Warriors. They were Zuko’s room guards, because as much as the girls did to protect the Fire Lord, they were no benders, and couldn't handle element based assassination attempts as well as these two. Mazow and Sora, he learned their names were, were very respectful to the Avatar, and knew he had no ill intent with their charge, so allowed him in whenever he pleased, and went as far as to engage in pleasant conversation when he would wait for Zuko.

“I’m making him take a break,” Aang announced as he closed the door behind him, looking up between them. Sora offered a smile, nodding some. “I'll make sure he doesn't die,” the Avatar joked, earning a full-bellied laugh from the two.

“Good, he needs one,” Mazow hummed. “He’s been holed up in there since yesterday afternoon.”

“Watch,” Aang hummed, “one day he’ll kill himself with all this work. Not assassination, old age, foreign affairs— exhaustion.” Through the three’s laughter, he barely heard the door open to the Fire Lord in significantly more casual clothes. Gone were the several layers of stiffened, heavy omeshi silk, replaced with a simple meisen haori and hakama, tied at the hips with a belt, the trousers tucked into his boots. Of course, they were heavily trimmed and embroidered, the fabric having been woven with threads of gold. Though Zuko only cared about fashion to a necessity of his image, Aang genuinely enjoyed the clothing of the Fire Nation, especially now that old culture was seeping its way back into modern dress. He remembered once or twice that he had told Zuko he liked this specific outfit—how the red, black and gold woven together shifted in the light of his flames when they worked in the arena. He noted that Zuko wore it more often now.

“I'm not _that _bad,” Zuko scolded, grinning slyly as the guards immediately got back in their stiff position. “I'll definitely die next time I upset Katara. If I don't go out with bloodbending, it will be a miracle,” he joked, beginning to walk with Aang.__

“She’s only bloodbended once,” Aang reasoned with a chuckle. “On the lady that taught it to her.”

“No, she’s done it around me too,” Zuko mused. “The captain of the Southern Raiders. I remember just watching him crumble, and thinking, ‘Agni, she totally could have killed me at any point in time’,” he chuckled.

“Consider yourself lucky, hm?” Aang laughed, pulling him into the doors of the training ring. What had once been used for Agni Kais, destruction and death and cheering it all on, was now a simple sparring arena, one where the staff’s children learned and practiced their firebending.

“Fire only,” Zuko reminded, making his way to his side of the ring. Too many times had Aang hit him with some unexpected water, or sucked the oxygen from his flames.

“On my honor,” Aang grinned, enjoying the way Zuko winced and groaned at the reference.

“Oh, I’m going to filet your ass,” Zuko taunted, spinning on his heel so his back faced the Avatar. He kicked his foot up, bringing it in a large circle so he turned to face the other, his toes trailing flames. When his foot hit the ground, the flames sped in a line towards Aang, who expertly split them down the center. In movements more reminiscent of waterbending, he created a ball of fire in his hands, spinning around to trail it into a serpent before sending it towards the Fire Lord.

Zuko caught it in a concave burst, tossing it down aside to light briefly on the stone below them. He lunged sideways, extending his arm to shoot another burst at him.

They kept in that precise dance for hours, and in those hours, Zuko had to notice something: he hadn't touched Aang’s fire in _years _, and it felt so different than it used to. His inner flame itself has changed. But he couldn't figure out how, not right away. But soon, it crept into his head that it wasn't the fire itself that was different, it was the fuel. No longer was Aang’s element coming from determination, fear, even anger. No… now it was coming from…__

Love.

Zuko faltered when he figured it out. He was late to blocking a move, and though it moved away, the flames licked at the medial side of his palm, immediately blistering the skin. He hissed, quickly, pulling the injured hand away to examine. It was odd, how startling it was. Katara wasn't around, but it was strong enough that it had to be someone who was around immediately. If it hadn't been, surely there would be some other emotion fueling it.

Aang’s concern was immediate, worn plainly on his face. “Crap, you okay? Did I get you?” He asked, squatting down beside him. “Oh, man. I'm sorry!”

“No, no,” Zuko mumbled, just pressing it into his abdomen. “I'm okay. My fault. Just late,” he reasoned.

“You don't react late,” Aang persisted. “You're more exhausted than I thought. You're going and taking a nap, okay?”

“Hey now,” Zuko protested. “Just a little distracted, I—”

“Nope, nope, nope. You. Bed. Now.”


	2. Notes and Tastes

When Zuko woke up, his hair had fallen out of its top knot, which made it fall over his eyes obnoxiously. It had grown considerably since he’d shaven his head, brushing his shoulder blades when it was down. He normally wore it half up—as was traditional for the Fire Lord—but to train, he’d pulled it all up into a bun so there were no rogue hairs to catch fire while he fought.

When he pushed his hair away from his face, he was met with the sight of Aang, lounging on the sofa against the wall. He’d put it, along with a short table, in for when he needed a break for a cup of tea, but it seemed every one of his guests he trusted enough to let into his chambers was inclined to drape themselves over it. So, he stopped questioning it whenever someone did.

He blinked rapidly, letting his good eye adjust to the light in the room. It was an amber gold, denoting early sunset. There were still rays that pushed through the open windows of the balcony to paint things in a whiter light, but it was mostly drowned by the oranges and reds of dusk.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Aang greeted, looking back over to Zuko when he noticed the slight movements that meant he was waking. It was so often that Aang would watch him for any signs of a nightmare, that he knew what meant what as far as his body language went. It was something Zuko enjoyed about Aang’s visits, waking up with an assuring presence and a calm voice telling him where he was and that he was safe.

“It’s sundown,” Zuko corrected, his voice waterlogged from sleep. He swallowed in an attempt to wet his throat, dry from the desiccant air of the castle’s volcanic surroundings. “How long was I out for?”

“Six hours,” Aang hummed happily, knowing Zuko wouldn't like that answer. And he was right. The Fire Lord bristled at the admission, shaking his head. He would have scolded Aang for letting him sleep for so long, but in the end, he had been right. He had needed it, and felt much better with a few hours of rest under his belt.

“At least you didn't let me miss dinner.” Aang’s face fell from that easy smile to a look that said, _‘Are you fucking kidding me?’_

“We both know you won't go to dinner unless someone forces you,” he deadpanned, making Zuko look away and shrug bashfully.

“Okay, maybe you’re right,” he chuckled, glancing back over. Aang was laughing and closing his eyes, so easily and plainly showing all the emotions he was feeling. It was something that always eluded the Fire Lord, why he was so… open. In all honesty, most Air Acolytes were like that when they were still around. Part of connecting your spirit with the rest of the world was making sure there was no guilt, no secrets. But, in the Fire Nation, children were taught that any emotion was shameful. Apathy was the only way to keep yourself in line. If you were to show any sadness, affection, it was used as a weakness.

He took his time staring at the Avatar. He just looked… so… _happy_. Aang always had an infectious smile, and soon, it spread onto Zuko’s face as well. Just barely—crooked, only on the right side. The left side of his face didn’t move much past blinking, and that went the same for full-facial expressions.

“I should get back to work,” Zuko finally sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I think my break has gone on far enough.” He pushed himself onto his feet, rolling his shoulders back. He could feel his shoulder blades touch as he stretched, sighing heavily. He searched around the heavy silk sheets of his bed for the silk ribbon that held his hair up. After finding it, he haphazardly pulled half of it into a bun, to which his pin was inserted.

“Aw,” Aang sighed, tracking the Fire Lord with his eyes, silver meeting gold with an apologetic smile. “Have you finished revising that proposition from the northern colonies?”

“No,” Zuko sighed, sitting down at his desk and grabbing the scroll in question. “There are so many loopholes that I don’t think the court thought through. I’m trying to plug them all through and smooth it all over, but honestly, the more I think about it, the less I think it’s a good idea.”

“Then reject it,” Aang offered, making a nonchalant gesture with his hand. Zuko clicked his tongue several times, shaking his head.

“It isn’t that simple. I already agreed to it.”

“Doesn’t the Fire Lord have like, ultimate power? Though? You can change your mind.”

“I don’t really like that principle. I mean, I can’t do much to change the structure of the government at this point, but the least I can do is take everyone into consideration. Which…” he sighed gently. “Here, you might have an idea for this.” He set down his pen, looking over to Aang.

“What’s got you thinking?”

“Here’s the thing. The court only represents the rich. So when I’m making proposals, there’s a high chance we miss something and create a law that will stomp down those not so fortunate.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I can’t bring in representatives for the lower classes without paying them appropriately for their work, which automatically takes them out of the lower class and into the upper class. Then we’re right back where we started.” He shook his head. “It isn’t like I can cut pay for them simply because they come from a poorer upbringing, but it defeats the purpose if they have the same income as the rest of the court.”

“Well,” Aang let out a heavy sigh. “That’s a lot to unpack. But I see where you’re coming from. But, think about it, you cater laws to navy soldiers because you, at one point, were one. You lived as one for long enough that you know the issues, you know the life. I think, just because they’re suddenly earning a hefty penchant, they’ll forget what it’s like to live without it. That’s the problem with the court, I think, they were born into wealth, and they don’t know anything but.” He let out a long breath through his nose. “Then again, you could always skip representatives and go straight to the people.”

“They won’t react well to that,” Zuko mused. “They’re all used to blindly agreeing with the Fire Lord. I’m afraid they would react out of fear rather than affect.” He looked down. “You’re right, though. I’ll run it by the rest of the council—though I fear I’ll be alone in concurment—”

“Well, I’m technically council, so there will be at least two of us. None of them really have the guts to disagree when we both agree.”

“Well, that’s also something I worry about. They shouldn’t be afraid to oppose a law because the two most powerful benders in the country are against them.” Aang sighed gently. He always over thought these sorts of things. But, Zuko was right, no one in the castle was quite used to having a kind hand on the throne yet. They were all scared of him—they treated him like his father. With a skittish, practiced respect, frozen up in fear whenever he said anything minutely negative. There was often expectation of punishment, whether that be fighting, burning, termination, even banishment, whenever Zuko was disagreed with or bothered.

For instance, not even Sora and Mazow were ready to hurt Toph the first time she came in and punched the Fire Lord in the arm. No one was expecting for him to _laugh_ , shove her back and continue into casual banter. Or, when Aang tackled him the first year in the castle, using a bit of air to help knock him to the ground in an attempt to make him take a break.

But, those reactions had been mediocre compared to when a little girl—Yuza, a daughter of one of the kitchen staff—had knocked into Zuko while chasing a friend around. The kids knew better than to make too much noise as they played, but Yuza had knocked straight into his leg, causing him to stumble as she fell to the ground. It had broken Zuko’s heart to see the fear in her eyes when he leaned down to her. He had gently picked her up, setting her on her feet. “Are you okay, honey? Look where you’re going, okay?” and everyone in the room seemed to let out a simultaneous breath of relief.

“I know,” Aang huffed, standing up and beginning towards the door. “I’m going to bring your dinner in here, alright?”

“Thank you, Aang,” he responded, offering a thankful smile. He spun back to his desk, going back to his endless revisions and propositions, letters and thanks and reports and cheques—

Agni, maybe he really was overworking himself. He’d never admit it, of course, but he was suddenly overwhelmed looking at the stacks of parchment cluttering his space.

Aang had soon returned with a tray—ornate carvings in cherrywood, lacquered with flecks of gold—piled with a few of Zuko’s preferred dishes. A bowl of spicy noodle soup, topped with various seafoods Aang couldn’t name after all these years, stalknose mushrooms adorning oryza rice, and of course, several purple berry tarts topped with sweet cream. He’d also grabbed a bottle of plum wine, a drink Aang had reluctantly grown fond of despite his aversion to alcohol. It was always nice to open a bottle with Zuko, whether he liked it or not. He set it down beside the Fire Lord, then taking his seat back on the sofa.

“Thank you,” he called, not letting his eyes off of the paper before him. With a few more precise strikes of ink, he placed it back in its pot of ink and looked to the tray. “Are you not going to eat?”

“I stole three apples from the kitchen and ate them in a whopping two minutes,” Aang grinned, waving his hand. “But, I’ll have a drink.”

“Oh, to be a monk that drinks,” Zuko mused, grabbing the bottle. He lit a small flame on the end of his index finger, holding it to the neck of the glass bottle. After enough pressure built, the cork popped off, which Aang caught with a practiced ease.

“Hey, having a drink with a fellow world leader is different than having a bottle of Sorghum Liquor in my nightstand,” he defended, tilting his head towards the drawer in question. Zuko really did drink too much, but between his trauma and his stress, Aang supposed he would be a borderline alcoholic too.

“Oh, hush,” he rolled his eyes, pouring the dark wine into the two glasses that were provided. He took one by the stem to hand to Aang, and cupped the other one beneath his nose. He swirled it a bit, breathing in the scent. He could identify the currants and violets that had been mixed with the plums, and could guess it had been fermented in a cedar barrel. “At least I’m more of an aficionado, less of a desperate drunkard.” He took a small sip, closing his eyes. There was a sharp tannin, though it barely drowned out the sweet undertones. And, of course, the punch in the mouth of whatever spice was added. He guessed licorice.

“That, I can’t deny,” Aang nodded. Drinking with Zuko was… well, an experience. If one were to ask the Avatar what a wine tasted like, he’d give a lame, ‘sweet’, ‘kinda like vinegar?’ whereas the other could taste a drop of something cheap and taste the acetaldehyde. He guessed it was from years and years of a trained pallet, after all, nobles were known to give their ten-year-olds some sort of a mushroom alcohol that Aang couldn’t pronounce. Zuko had described it as horrible, but it had the slightest amount of alcohol in it, which ultimately drowned out the sourness of aged scoby.

“Sweet,” was all Aang commented, knowing full well he wasn’t getting any of the flavors he was supposed to. Oh, well.

“Sweet,” Zuko agreed, somewhat validating Aang’s confidence in patented adulting. Zuko fell back into his work, taking bites of his food when he could, and downed three more glasses of wine. Despite the alcohol in his blood, he didn’t act at all inebriated, which led Aang to ask:

“How much do you drink? Like, for real?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged noncommittally. “More than is healthy, for sure. But, it takes the edge off.”

“You know, that really isn’t healthy. Don’t you meditate?”

“Of course I do,” he scoffed. “But, I can only calm myself so much with everything happening at the moment.”

“Your chakras are probably super bad, then,” Aang shrugged. “Probably weak, if not completely closed.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You know, they’re not a big thing here, because you can’t charge a patient unless you give them some sort of tincture.”

“That’s pretty slimy. Here, if you want to lay down, I’ll check them for you.”

“And what would you do with that information, dearest Avatar? You know I won’t put in the effort to get them properly aligned.”

“But I could help a tiny bit. Maybe? Besides, now I’m just curious. Come on, Hotman.”

Zuko met his eyes for a moment, his brows low and straight. The pleading look on Aang’s face broke him rather quickly. He rolled his eyes, setting down his pen. “Fine, fine.” He made his way back over to his bed, stretching some as he laid down. Aang cheered quietly, climbing up beside him. He cracked his knuckles, kneeling perpendicular to him.

“Do your best to relax, okay?” He asked. “It will be quick, cause I have cool Avatar privileges,” he joked. Zuko scoffed, letting his eyes close.

He couldn’t help but flinch violently when he felt cool fingers on his forehead, but a slight ‘sorry’ and a few seconds to calm down saw the reaction fleeting.

Aang closed his eyes, letting out a slow exhale as he focused in on his crown. Blocked—he expected that. Overwhelming feelings of isolation. He moved down to barely touch the skin between his brows, knowing how panicked Zuko got when his scar was touched. Blocked… again. Lack of self trust. He should have been able to guess that one. His throat was fine, to Aang’s delight.

He let his fingers trail down to Zuko’s chest, and even through the silk he wore, he could feel the familiar warping of a lightning scar. He had to take a moment to even process what was happening with his heart. It didn’t seem to just be blocked, it seemed… broken. Just grief, anger, fear, shame… unadulterated self-hatred. He could hear his breath catch in his throat as he opened his eyes. Gods, he hurt just from the minuscule amount of negativity he could sense. He shakily continued down. It just seemed to get worse. Lack of control, anxiety— nightmare. _Spirits, _so many nightmares.__

“Zuko…” he mumbled. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but how the hell are you living like this?”

He opened his eyes, but closed them just as quickly, because he didn’t need to see the pitiful tears rolling down Aang’s cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m awfully bitchy about alcohol for a russian, aren’t I


	3. Everything Is So Much, All the Time

It was hard to pretend that it hadn’t happened. That Aang hadn’t just seen the persistent turmoil that existed within his friend, that he hadn’t seen him at his most vulnerable since the war. But it sure seemed that Zuko wanted to ignore that he saw what he did, because he hadn’t acknowledged it in any way, shape or form. He had gone to bed like it had been any other night, he’d had the same nightmares, he’d rise at sunrise, and hadn’t mentioned it again.

Aang found himself staring Zuko down during this entire meeting. Every pinch of the bridge of his nose, every frustrated sigh, every shift of his weight. He was very clearly frustrated with everyone in the room. His jaw was clenched in a way that had to be hurting his ears. Beneath the table, Aang gently placed his hand on the Fire Lord’s knee, which seemed to do jack shit to calm him down.

“I just don’t see why you find it necessary to bring them in at all,” one argued. An ex-military General that led divisions near Omashu, Aang remembered. “We’re just fine as is.”

“But we don’t _know _that,” Zuko sighed. “This isn’t something I’m willing to debate, Yoze. I’m afraid I’ll bring in new representatives whether or not you agree with it—as you’re just proving my point as to why more diversity among the council is necessary.”__

“It’s foolish,” Yoze insisted, “if we cater to the poor, our economy—” he began, though was very quickly cut off with Zuko’s fist hitting the table.

“If you think it’s foolish to make sure everyone in this country is safe and happy, then perhaps I don’t want you in this warroom. Being able to consider everyone shouldn’t feel like a threat to you. Your selfishness is deplorable.” Smoke punctuated his words, whispering at the edges of his mouth as he spoke.

The room’s air seemed to get heavy, everyone stiffening and going silent. Aang sighed gently, moving his hand to rest atop Zuko’s for a moment. Then, to Yoze, “I think it may be best for you to leave.”

It was silent for another few minutes. When Zuko nodded to Aang’s suggestion, he slowly gathered his things, and exited the hall. Zuko let out a long breath, rubbing his face slowly. “I apologize,” he shook his head, straightening back up. “You’re all free to leave for now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the others slowly filed out of the hall, Aang fully turned to the Fire Lord. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“I will be,” he sighed. “Sorry, my temper got the best of me.”

“It’s okay!” Aang assured, draping an arm over Zuko’s shoulders. “You’re allowed to get mad, you know.”

“I don't care that I'm _allowed._ I don't want to get angry—I don't want to _have_ to get upset, I don't like being upset, I—” he shook his head, rubbing his right temple. “I don't have time to have a crisis right now. I need to go see my father.” He’d started a precise schedule with seeing his family—he had tea with Ozai at the stroke of three on Mondays (which was in thirty minutes, he really was cutting it close), on Wednesdays at twelve , he’d have a face-to-face conversation with his sister, and on Saturdays at six, he would have dinner with her separated through glass.

“Would you like me to help you get tea ready?” Aang offered, rising to his feet.

“If you would like to,” Zuko huffed, allowing the servants to begin cleaning up the mess of the meeting. He followed Aang to the exit, then the two moved along to the kitchen.

“You know,” Aang hummed, opening the door for him. Zuko nodded gently to a cook, then went to the cupboard that he kept his own wares in. There were plenty of teas, fire flakes, stuff like that. “If you wouldn't mind, maybe I could join you today?”

Zuko gave him a side eye as he pulled out the blend he found his father enjoyed—a roast oolong tea with dried berries, fire lilies, and a handful of lapsang—along with the tea set he had ready. “Are you sure you want to, though? There's a chance he might get violent, you know…”

“I mean, he’s harmless, isn't he? If you don't want me to go, just tell me, but I think I'd like to,” he murmured, watching as Zuko filled the strainer with loose tea,setting it aside to fill the pot with water. He held it close, getting his hands on as much of the iron as he could cover to heat it. Aang never got how he did that, he always eventually burnt his hands on the hot metal. Maybe it was just because he didn't have so many calluses on his hands to block out the heat.

“You can come, if you please,” Zuko shrugged. “I'm just not sure why you would want to.”

In all honesty, Aang was still in observation mode. He had been ever since the night before. He had been in observation mode during the meeting, only paying attention to Zuko’s reactions. Now he wanted to observe if, and how, different the Fire Lord would act about his father.

Zuko placed the strainer in the water, replacing the lid soon after. “Just be aware he hasn't changed much at all.” He set the pot on the tray, along with three cups, turned upside down on their saucers. Aang only nodded, staying on his left as they ventured towards the halls that led to the labyrinth of the dungeons. Ozai’s cell wasn't a cell, per se. No matter how much he hated him, Zuko couldn't allow his father to live in an empty, cold room with nothing to do for the rest of his miserable life. Instead, it had a twin bed, adorned with plain cotton sheets that were changed weekly. There were a few other amenities, such as a desk and a lamp, a few other things he had requested over the years.

He was also situated at the entrance of the dungeons, so he didn't feel too isolated. So, it didn't take too long to get there. Ozai was sat on his chair, reading something or other that had been approved for him to consume. When he heard the shrill clicking of Zuko’s boots against the linoleum, he looked up with a glare that could kill. “Oh, is it time for my prestigious meeting with the all powerful Fire Lord? Oh, lucky me, the Avatar, too.” His voice was laced with malice and venom.

“So lucky,” Zuko agreed indifferently, sitting down on the small mat before the little slot that was used to give things to him, or to take dishes. “How was your week, father?” He asked calmly, overturning a cup to fill with steaming tea.

“Don’t call me that, you insolent brat,” Ozai hissed, to which Zuko just nodded apathetically.

“How was your week?” He repeated, pushing the cup through to him. He snatched it up, bringing it to his lips with a grimace.

“I can taste the weakness of your flame,” he spat, though he drank it nonetheless.

“Of course,” he waved it off. “Do you plan to answer my question?” He poured Aang a cup, handing it to him by the saucer. “Hot,” he warned.

“Thanks,” Aang murmured, producing a cold breeze as he blew on the liquid.

“Why do you care?” Was Ozai’s answer.

“Because you’re my father, of course I care.” Zuko’s voice was practiced and steady, as if this was the millionth time they'd had this conversation. Which, now that Aang thought about it, wasn't unlikely. “Is there anything you’ve found you needed?”

“My freedom,” the man spat.

“Mhm,” Zuko sipped his tea, closing his eyes. “Have you finished all of your books? I'm sure we can find some new material to keep you entertained.” He glanced up, his mouth not so much as twitching upwards. “We’ve just gotten a library in the eastern colony run by a fellow from Siaw Jong, just about an hour south of Ba Sing Se. I'm sure he has quite a bit of new information to share with us.”

“You have ultimate power over the most wealthy country in the world, and you spend it on giving pretentious jobs to aliens. You’re such a disappointment,” he hissed.

“Oh, I know,” Zuko hummed, finishing off his drink and just as quickly refilling it. “Have you any special requests?” There was a stint of silence when his father ignored the question. “I’ll surprise you, then.”

“I wish I had killed you when I was given the chance,” he finally muttered. Aang found himself spitting out his tea at the blatant admission. He looked to Zuko, expecting to detect the same shock and anger. But he was calm.

“I’m aware,” was all he hummed. “Speaking of, how do you feel about discussing mother’s whereabouts this week?”

“As I always do.”

“If you insist,” he shrugged. “I may arrange a trip to her hometown soon and ask about.”

“Her lover is dead,” Ozai bristled.

“Oh, I know,” he waved it off. “But, to my knowledge, grandmother may still be there. Perhaps some old friends. Besides, I hear that Hira’a has a wonderful little theater—better than the Ember Island Players, at any rate. Agni, I don't know how they're still in business.”

“Propaganda,” Aang offered, making Zuko nod.

“I suppose their political productions are their most popular. But they butcher _Love Amongst Dragons_ at least twice a year. The Hira’a Acting Troupe holds it as a year-round show, I'd love to see it done right.”

“You always have had interest in such useless things,” Ozai remarked.

“Well, aside from simple enjoyment, it creates jobs. A single ticket to the Ember Island Players was three gold pieces—I'm sure those actors and whoever else is involved live very happy and comfortable lives.”

“Who cares of happiness and comfort?”

“Many people do, father,” he shrugged. “It’s become a wildly popular concept since my coronation, can you imagine?”

“Don't speak to me like that, you good for nothing—”

“Ah, Ah,” Zuko interrupted, shaking his head. “Kind words. Remember?”

“I have nothing _kind _to say to you,” Ozai sneered. “You're a defective little brat who is ruining my country.”__

“Not your country,” Zuko reminded.

“Why, you little—” Zuko didn't hear the rest of what he said, because now, he was reaching through the bars, his fingers swiping the air in front of his face. And suddenly, Zuko wasn't in the dungeon, safe, with a friend by his side—he was in an arena, _that_ arena, fighting his father, and—

In his scramble to get away and cover his face, he had kicked over the tea. Aang gasped, quickly bending the hot water back into the kettle. As soon as it was safely contained, he scampered over to Zuko. His hand was over his scar, his pupils pinpricks in a sea of gold. The very image of terror, complete with tears threatening to spill from the corners of his wide eyes. With the help of some sneaky airbending, Aang took him into his arms, holding him close.

“Hey, Zuko? Zuko?” Aang asked, gently pushing some stray hair from his face. “Zuko, listen to me— hey, darling, you're okay,” he whispered. “You're safe. I'm here.” 

Ozai let out a full-bellied laugh, chiding his son for being a weakling and a coward. Aang could practically feel Kyoshi fighting for a turn behind the wheel to murder him right there, right now. But he had a ball of trauma-laiden Fire Lord to hold right now, so she would have to wait.

“Zuko,” he cooed, using his other hand to rub the dip of his waist. “Hey, can you hear me?” There was a shaky nod. Zuko blinked, his eyes spilling tears down onto his cheeks. “Good, hey, focus on me. I'm here. Breathe with me, darling.”

It took a few moments of terrified silence, but he finally let out a sob, taking in an audible gasp. He was present, but now, he was just panicking. Panicking, hand. Aang rubbed his thumb along his right cheekbone. “Can you stand up with me, Zuko?” He asked. “Come on, let’s go sit outside for a bit. How does that sound?”

Zuko nodded shakily, and once Aang began to rise, he forced himself to follow. It was only then that the Avatar’s anger truly set in. Ozai knew exactly what he was doing when he reached between those bars.

Perhaps, he considered as they left, he'd have to take a more… _personal _visit with Ozai soon.__


	4. One Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So sorry for the ungodly long hiatus and super short chapter. I’ll explain myself in the end notes.

“Avatar,” was the first thing Ozai said, when Aang appeared before his cell—alone. “To what do I owe the _pleasure_?” It was spoken with such hatred that Aang was surprised it didn’t make what hair he did have stand on end. He was toting the same tray of tea Zuko always brought. But, instead of sitting outside of the cell while they spoke, Aang intended to keep face to face with the man. In what may have been a subtle tote of power, he reached out to touch one of the iron bars. He used his bending to dent it out enough that he could step into the cell, then returning it to its original position. He didn’t metalbend much—he wasn’t too great at it, especially when you put him next to Toph when he had been learning it, but it did come in handy for situations like this.

“The Fire Lord is taking his supper with your daughter early this week,” he explained, voice level. “We’ve arranged to leave for Hira'a tomorrow morning. So, I thought I would come to make up for the fact he won’t be here next week to speak with you.”

“Don’t call him that,” Ozai sneered.

“Oh, why not?” Aang asked innocently. He knew the answer, but he wanted to see if Ozai would say it. And say it, he did.

“He’s a sad, sorry excuse for a leader,” he snipped, taking his tea without so much as a thank you.

“Is that so?” He hummed. “I don’t know. He’s done much better in nine years than you did in your entire rule, if I do say so myself,” he hummed, sitting down at the desk. “In fact, we’ve finally repaid all the monetary debt the war created, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Hmph.”

Aang closed his eyes, slowly sipping his tea. “Of course, everyone is doing their best to heal from the hell you put them through. Reparations are far from over.” He met Ozai’s eyes, offering a wry smile. “Such a shame he inherited such a mess.”

The two sat in tense silence for a moment or two, before Aang spoke again.

“You know, I rather wanted to speak with you, anyways.”

“What could you possibly want from me, o powerful Avatar?”

“Oh, not much. Just wanted you to explain a few things to a youngin like me.” He closed his eyes, pulling his feet up below him to fold into a lotus. “I wanted to ask you about why you’re such an awful parent.”

“I’m sorry?” Ozai asked, seeming he was actually caught off-guard by the question.

“Oh, you know. I checked Zuko’s chakras on Sunday, actually. They were awful. The most trauma I’ve ever seen ingrained into someone’s spirit. It was impressive, honestly, just how much you’ve ruined him.” When Ozai didn’t answer, he continued. “He flinches at every little contact, even when he knows it’s coming. It doesn’t help that he’s entirely blind and deaf on his left side—did you know that? It makes him so paranoid. Even if he knows there’s no danger, he’s always looking over that shoulder, looking for someone who wants to kill him. And the thing is, he’s fine, once someone’s actually there. But he is so, so afraid.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “And it’s all your fault. Every time someone raises his hand, he thinks that he’s going to be hurt. Every time I touch his shoulder, he gasps so loudly…” he opened one eye. “It’s terrifying, what a monster like you can do to a boy.”

“I taught him the only way it would get to him,” Ozai growled. “He’s too soft.”

“Oh, you mean, he’s got empathy? He’s a good person? He’s a much better ruler than you’ll ever be?” Aang mused. “I have no clue how this country didn’t fall into vagrant mutiny in ten years. The fact that it saw two more Fire Lords is honestly amusing.” He set down his cup. “Zuko has been so kind to you. But I have spared all the kindness I have for you when I spared your life. I don’t intend to show you any more.”

“And what will you do?” He mused. “You’ve already stripped me of my title, my bending, what more can you do?”

He chuckled, leaning back. “The monks always told me that I need to be kind to everyone, no matter what. But I will ensure that the rest of your life, groveling in this little cell, will be unbearable. You’re already a pathetic shrewd of a man, and you don’t deserve the treatment he gives you. I’ll do what I can to make sure you get _only_ what you deserve. He left the tray on the desk, leaving the same way he came in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have begun the long, arduous process of leaving a cult I was born into. I broke free from the beliefs quite some time ago (I never really bought into them, in the first place) and have been a practicing pagan for six years. However, legally, I’m still a part of this cult. Much of these past six years has been saving up for a lawyer to help me legally break— and I have to do it before I move up to campus, so they don’t have access to my address to send representatives to. So far I’ve submitted six letters, which all mysteriously disappeared. And, yes, they’re trying to guilt me into staying, but it’s honestly funny because they assume I have not found gods that actually care for and communicate with me. My presence online has been monitored carefully lately, but as far as I’m aware, they don’t even know what Ao3 is, so...


	5. Bad Dreams

It wasn't too uncommon to see the Fire Lord sleeping with his head in the Avatar’s lap. It was often between meetings, outside, maybe at his desk. It was nearly always him passing out on a table, and Aang gently airbending his way into its position. He told everyone it was so Zuko could get a little better rest—especially if he slept long enough to have a nightmare. He’d never admit it was because he liked to run his hands through his hair, that he moved how he buried his face in Aang’s robes—nope.

But, now that they were alone, riding silently on Appa towards Hira’a, he didn't have to convince people otherwise. He could just sit back against the saddle, with Zuko curled in his lap, layered in a cloak and two blankets. He was in comfortable clothes—what he wished he could wear all the time, but of course, he had a reputation to uphold. Gone was the golden pin that would sit in his bun—no, his hair was down, parted to cover his left eye, waved slightly from the humid air of the clouds. He didn't like being recognized, especially on trips like this, and he could honestly get away with it when he did this.

Aang had pushed the hood of his cloak back and fluff out his hair, gently running his fingers through it. Of course, the avatar had no hair to take care of, so he was doubly interested in Zuko’s. It was nice to touch— soft, brushed carefully, always gently curled with a metal cylinder he heated with his own flames. Even without the headpiece, he’d made sure to style it well, braiding it close to his head on the right side, then allowing it to fall over his shoulders. Aang ran his finger over the ridges of the plait, smiling gently.

They’d been flying for two hours now. It was a little over six hours to Hira’a, not bad by any stretch. Appa knew where they were going, and could make it without Aang being awake,but he worried that if he fell asleep, Zuko would have nightmares. He was… protective, to say the least.

On queue, it almost seemed, Zuko whined softly, turning over. “Hey,” Aang cooed, rubbing a finger over his brow. No response, not verbally. Zuko flinched, beginning to shake slightly. Aang let out a gentle sigh, tapping him gently. “Zuko, wake up. You're dreaming, you're okay. We’re on Appa going to Hira’a.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Zuko?” He asked. “Zuko, I need you to wake up—”

The Fire Lord gasped loudly, bolting straight up so quickly that the two almost hit heads. He was hyperventilating, one hand on his chest, the other covering his eye. “...We’re on Appa,” Aang repeated gently. “Your dad is locked away at home. We’re going to find your grandmother,” he cooed.

Zuko stayed in that panicked state for a while, until he really registered what the Avatar said. He slowed his breathing, his trembling hands falling to his lap. “What time is it?” He eventually asked. Aang looked over Appa’s saddle to the sun, then situating himself to face north. He extended one palm, then resting a finger atop it.

“I wanna say five. We should land soon.” He looked over to Zuko. “May I touch you?” He asked. The other nodding shakily. Aang wrapped an arm around his shoulders, patting his arm. “Are you holding up?”

“I think,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” he shook his head. “Maybe stay awake until we land.”

So, that’s what he did. Until they landed on the outskirts of Hira’a, neither of them slept a wink. They made sure Appa had a comfortable place to stay, giving him lots of food before leaving to find a hotel to wait out the night.

Zuko was beyond pleased that he wasn't recognized, and even happier with his treatment. He wasn't stopped once while he got to the hotel, and wasn't treated oddly by the inkeep. It was just recognition of the Avatar. He was happy to be out of the limelight for a bit.

“Avatar Aang!” The keeper gasped, straightening up. “What are you doing here?”

“Just here for a quick visit,” Aang explained easily. “We meant to get here by morning, but,” he shrugged with a smile. “How much for an overnight?”

“For you?” She chuckled. “Free.”

“Oh, don't be like that, allow me to pay you!”

“No, please, I insist—” Zuko stopped the conversation by pulling out a small silk sachet, producing six gold coins and setting them on the counter. The fee was only two silver pieces, and he knew that. He gave her a smile, shaking his head. She stared at the coins for a moment, her lips curling into a shaky smile. “Thank you,” she settled on. She ducked below the desk to grab a key, then handing it over. “Room 18.”

“Thank you,” Aang hummed, grabbing Zuko’s hand to lead him towards the room. Zuko chuckled softly, catching up to walk beside him. “I hate when people do that.”

“Agni, you have no idea,” Zuko hummed, shaking his head. They got to the eighteenth room, Aang quietly unlocking the door and letting them both in. It was nice, small and homey. Rich reds and browns, several unlit lanterns. “If you're willing to let go of some pillows, I'll be fine on the floor.”

“No way I’m allowing the Fire Lord to sleep on the floor,” Aang chuckled, lighting a few of the lanterns.

“Well, you’re the avatar.”

“I'm a monk, I'm used to it.”

“I was a sailor and a refugee.”

“And I only have a bed when I'm in the Fire nation. Chill, Zuko. Promise, if I get uncomfortable, I'll switch you.”

Zuko groaned, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine.” He placed his bag down beside the nightstand, then plopping on the bed with a groan. He swept his hair to the side, putting it in a tight plait so it wouldn't tangle. “I'll try not to have any nightmares,” he joked.

“I'm never inconvenienced by your nightmares,” Aang responded softly, grabbing one of the pillows and curling up on the ground. “Don't hesitate to wake me if you need it. Zuko. I mean it.”

“...thank you, Aang,” he smiled, passing out soon after his head hit the mattress.


	6. You Look Just Like Her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only like, half canon. I wanted angst and I didn’t want Azula to go the way she did, so just bear with me as I basically rewrite the search lol

Zuko woke up with his hand hanging off of the bed, legs sprawled and tangled in the covers, gentle fingers tangled within his own. He groaned quietly, opening his eyes slowly. His face was squished into the edge of the mattress, no doubt wrinkled and imprinted by the fitted sheet. It took a few minutes for his eye to adjust to the morning light, bleary and heavy from sleep. His fingers twitched, brushing against Aang’s palm.

His eyes flicked over to the Avatar, who was now on the other edge of the mattress. He’d draped his arm over Zuko’s waist to take his hand, though their backs were still to each other. He had to wonder if Aang had tried to kick him out of the bed, but he had just been sleeping too heavily. He smiled a bit, sighing softly. These were the kind of mornings he missed—just waking up, no rush, no meetings, no responsibilities that required his urgent attention. Just the quiet dawn, the sun waking him with a gentle nudge.

He gently pulled his hand out of Aang’s, sitting up with a yawn. He looked down at himself—he'd kicked off all of his covers, his cloak was long discarded on the ground. He reached up to untie the braid he’d put his hair in, slowly combing it out with his fingers. That was what he loved about plaits—they could never get tangled, so he didn't need any extra tools.

He climbed out of bed, heading to the window. He opened the curtains, basking in the sunlight that crept into the room. Aang whined when the light flashed before his eyelids, causing Zuko to chuckle gently. He looked back at him, watching him close his hand, then opening it and closing it twice more, before finally opening his eyes to see why there wasn't anything there.

“Ugh,” he groaned, blinking several times. His forearm was close to numb, pins and needles pulling through his skin. He shook out his hand, looking over to Zuko. “Good morning, M’Lord,” he mumbled.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” He chuckled, turning to face him. “Ended up tired of the floor?” He asked.

“Less that—I just got cold,” he hummed. “Hope I didn't bug you, you're just so warm.”

“Oh, I don't mind,” he shrugged. “It’s probably just warmer in the bed, anyways.”

“I guess so,” he chuckled. “Are you up to meditate with Appa before we really get going?”

“You know I'm never going to pass meditation,” he grinned slyly, looking over to him. “Let me ask that innkeep about my grandmother, though,” he hummed. He looked down, tilting his head slightly. “How do you think Roku will feel about seeing his daughter?”

“I think he’s excited,” Aang shrugged. “He said she’s still alive, and that’s all he’ll tell me. But you know, he’s rather unpredictable.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled a bit. “Let’s get going, okay?” He asked, offering his hand to help him up. Aang took it after his hand had proper blood flow, using some airbending to give him a push. The two gathered their bags, vaguely made the bed, and left.

There was a new hostess now, a younger looking woman with short hair. She didn't really react to Aang, definitely a stark difference from the woman last night. Zuko placed the key on the desk, offering her a warm smile. “May I ask you something before we go?”

“Shoot.”

“You don't happen to know if Rina—or her husband, Jinzuk—are still around?”

“Jinzuk is long past dead,” the girl sighed. “Rina’s around the edge of town past the fountain and gardens. Bedridden—got a caretaker named Noren, his wife lives there too. Something like that. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” he hummed. “Thank you, miss.”

“Yeah, course. Be careful out there.”

Zuko joined Aang by the door, walking out with him. “She’ll get a surprise, I guess. _Hi, I'm your grandson, I know we’ve never met and you were forbidden to ever meet me, but can we talk?_ ” he joked.

“Maybe just…” he shook his head, laughing gently. “Don't.”

—

Rina’s home was small, situated beyond the typical boundaries of Hira’a. Zuko had replaced his cloak and hood, though it was only being used as an instrument for Zuko to fidget with as he debated knocking. It was what he came here to do, but he was so incredibly anxious.

“Zuko,” Aang hummed, taking his hand. “You're okay. I can do the talking, if you want.”

“You shouldn't have to,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I survive a war and two Agni Kais, six assassination attempts a week, and I can't even knock on a damn door. Agni, I'm pathetic.”

“You're not,” Aang clicked his tongue. “I'll knock, okay?”

“Okay.”

Aang approached the door, giving it six quick raps. It took a few moments, but a man eventually pushed open the door. He looked between them, eyebrows raised. “May I help you?”

“Are you Noren?” Aang hummed.

“Yes.”

“Is Rina here?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Aang,” Zuko interrupted, “they don’t get much news out here. He doesn't know who you are,” he chuckled.

“Oh! Oh, yeah. I'm Aang—the Avatar. I'm the Avatar,” he laughed. “Sorry.”

Noren’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh, Agni, I'm so so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” he assured. “I'm just used to, you know. People knowing. I shouldn't assume. Anyways, we wanted to talk to Rina about a few… family matters, I guess?”

“Of course, of course—” he looked to Zuko. “You are?”

“Lee,” he answered simply.

“Lee. Come in, please. Can I get you anything?”

“Tea?” Aang asked, looking back to Zuko. The latter nodded. “Tea, tea would be nice.”

“Of course. Rina is in her room, I'll have my daughter take you while I brew it.” Noren closed the door behind the two. “Kiyi!” He called. “Kiyi, come here for a minute!”

A girl, maybe eleven, appeared around the corner. “Yeah?” She asked.

Noren paused. He looked between Kiyi and Zuko, his features twisting slightly. They looked...so alike. Same eyes, nose, hair color—

They both looked so much like their mother.

It clicked, then. “Kiyi, go ahead and take Avatar Aang to Rina, please. Lee, how about you help me with tea?”

“Sure,” Zuko nodded, following the man into a small kitchen area.

“Do you have a preference as to flavor?” Noren hummed.

“If you have jasmine, that would be lovely,” Zuko hummed, taking the kettle once it was taken out.

“I do,” Noren nodded. “You bend?”

“I bend.”

“Great, would you mind boiling the water?”

“Not at all,” Zuko responded brightly. He filled the kettle up, holding it over his hand before producing a small flame. Noren didn’t say anything as he poured the leaves of the tea into a pouch, tying it tightly as not to let any solid bits get through. When Zuko could feel the movement of popping bubbles in the pot, he set it on the stone area of the counter, where it wouldn’t scorch.

“Thank you,” Noren nodded, placing the bag in and putting the lid on. As the two waited for it to brew, Noren finally spoke on the elephant only he could see. “I suppose you don’t make your own tea often.”

“Why do you suppose that?” he chuckled, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I like the way it tastes with my flame better. My uncle makes it better, but he doesn’t live close.” he tapped his nails against the pot, shrugging slightly.

“I just… thought you’d have others make it for you,” Noren began carefully. “Being the Fire Lord, and all.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. He had to laugh after a moment or two of silence. “Most people out here don’t know my face…”

“I suppose I don’t, either,” He wondered. “But… I know your mother’s face. You look so much like her.”

Zuko went quiet for a few moments. “You..” he began. “You know my mom?”

Noren stared for a bit. He would… he would hate to have him find out some other way. He may as well let Zuko know what had happened. “Sir,” he sighed. “She’s here. But… she doesn’t remember you.”

His face just contorted. Relieved to hear she was alive, but devastated that she had just gone and forgotten her son— “What do you mean?”

“Have you heard of the Mother of Faces?”

“No.”

“She’s a very powerful spirit,” Noren began. “And if you appease her, she will do you a favor. More often than not, she will bestow you a new identity—a new face. But the cost of a new life… it’s your old life. No memories, no nothing. To her… to her, Ursa is a completely different person. She goes by Noriko here. She doesn’t even know Rina is her mother.”

“I…” he looked away, feeling tears prick at his eye. “She’s alive, though… that’s what matters.”

“Ursa isn’t, not really. Unless she goes back to the Mother of Faces, and she takes back her gift…” he sighed gently. “I’ve been thinking of telling her ever since you ascended to the throne. But… I’m selfish, I suppose. We’ve built a life here—and Kiyi, I don’t think she’s old enough to understand. I mean, would you?”

“I wouldn’t,” he shook his head. “I…”

He looked down to the pot. “The tea is going to scald, we’d ought to go.”


	7. A Little Blunt

Noren knocked gently on the door of Rina’s bedroom, Zuko close behind him with a tray of tea. After a moment with no answer, he opened it gently. Within that room, was the calmest Avatar state Zuko had ever seen—aside from the glow of his eyes and tattoos, you’d never know it wasn’t Aang speaking to Rina. The two looked over, exchanged a few more hushed words, before Roku said his goodbye. Rina let go of his hand, watching the bright white glow fade away. Aang blinked several times, then reaching up to rub his eyes. “I’m back,” he informed, mostly for Zuko’s benefit. The fire lord didn’t respond verbally, he just nodded shortly and handed Aang a cup. He cooled it quickly with his bending, then handing it to Rina. when he went to take his own, he caught Zuko’s eye, and recognized the sadness behind his façade. His head immediately went to the worst:

Ursa was dead.

He bypassed the cup on the tray, instead grasping Zuko’s hand in a silent, _Are you okay?_ Zuko just shrugged, pulling his hand away and pushing the tea forward. Aang’s brows furrowed in concern.

“Should I…?” Noren asked Zuko quietly, gesturing to Rina.

“Don’t see the point in keeping it,” he shrugged, smiling weakly. Noren nodded, stepping to the space beside her bed.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, sitting down beside her.

“You know, bedridden and tired. It’s the life, isn’t it?” she joked. She coughed a few times before beginning to sip her tea. “No, no… today is good. I didn’t think I’d ever speak to any of my family again,” she sighed.

“Well then,” Noren chuckled. “I’ve got more good news for you. This,” he hummed, looking back to Zuko and waving him forward. “Is your grandson.” Upon seeing Rina’s confused expression, Zuko pushed back his hair to reveal his scar, smiling faintly.

“Hi,” he greeted quietly. Rina sat up a bit, squinting against the light.

“You’re Ozai’s,” she mumbled. “Zuko.”

“Unfortunately,” he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I know he kind of royally fucked your life up—”

“Language,” Aang interrupted, forcing a small, genuine smile to curl up his lips. He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Ever so sorry,” he joked, folding his arms. “Anyways. He’s locked up now—for good, I promise.”

Rina smiled faintly, waving him over. “Come here, let me get a look at you, boy.” Zuko fidgeted with his cloak for a moment, finally setting the tray down to get closer to the bed. Rina forced herself to sit up (Though she was almost immediately helped and supported by Noren), patting the bed gently. He hesitantly sat down, keeping his eyes down on his hands.

“The Fire Lord can’t keep eye contact?” she joked. She gently grabbed either side of his jaw, forcing him to look up at her so she could examine him.

“I really can’t,” he admitted, his eyes darting to the side, as if punctuating the statement.

“How old are you, son?” she asked.

“Twenty-five,” he responded, smiling faintly. She ran her thumbs over the faint crows’ feet, the constant furrow of his brow. He’d been forced to grow up so quickly, she could tell. There was stress and pain embedded into his features, but he did his best to wear it confidently. Her fingers ran over the warped skin of his scar, a frown worrying at her lips.

The poor boy.

“You look like both of them,” she mused. “Roku and Sozin, I mean. I can’t see much of your father in you.”

“That’s a relief, if I’m honest,” Zuko shrugged, standing up after a moment. “I’m so sorry for how my father treated you all,” he mumbled.

“It isn’t your mistake to apologize for…” she assured. She went to say something else, though was cut off by the door to the kitchen opening. She glanced at Noren. “Is that Noriko? I thought she was working late.”

“Wait, she’s here?” Zuko asked, tugging his cloak close around his shoulders.

“She’s here,” Noren nodded slowly. “Zuko, you… I think you should stay for dinner. I think it’s time I told her.”

The Fire Lord’s eyes widened. “Noren, I don’t mean to come in and uproot your whole life. I… had my time.”

“She deserves to know,” he shook his head. “Now, come on, let’s help her make dinner. How do stuffed peppers sound?” he asked, clasping his hands together. He gently patted Zuko’s back, leaving to the kitchen.

Aang furrowed his brows, looking to Zuko. “So is she…?”

Zuko pursed his lips, folding his arms. “Have you heard of the Mother of Faces?”

“...Ah,” a soft smile formed on his lips, and he nodded faintly. Aang pushed himself up, waving to Rina. “We’ll bring you some food when it’s ready, okay?” he hummed cheerily, grabbing Zuko’s hand again. As they walked out, “I like her.”

“I guess you would,” Zuko murmured. “Roku raised you both in a way, right?” he shrugged, squeezing his hand quickly.

“Guess he did,” Aang laughed. Before they got to the kitchen, Aang made a hard stop. “Are you doing okay, though?”

“I… don’t know,” Zuko shook his head, closing his eyes. “On one hand, I’m so, so happy she’s alive, that she’s okay. But… she doesn't… _know_ me, or Azula, or… I feel like I don’t have a right to be upset, though. I got my time with her as a mom, and now she’s got a good life here…” he rubbed his face. “And I don’t think I’ll even be able to look her in the eyes without breaking down. I’m the fucking Fire Lord, I can’t just collapse into tears, and—”

“Shh,” Aang cooed, holding his shoulder gently. Despite being a few years younger than him, Aang had long since grown taller than Zuko. “Hey, look at me. You’re going to be okay, Zuko. You _are_ okay, duckie.” Zuko laughed weakly, shaking his head.

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” he laughed.

“Not enough, apparently. Now come on, you’ll be okay.”

Zuko sighed, nodding and placing his hair back over his eye. He stayed where he was for a moment, before pulling away from the other. “Thank you, Aang. You’re really good at calming me down, know that?”

“Monk privileges,” he hummed, trailing behind him into the kitchen. They were met with the family unpacking fresh produce from a large basket. Noriko was handing the food to Kiyi, who was happily sorting itto be washed, cut, and cooked. Once he noticed them, Noren smiled brightly, tapping his wife on the shoulder. “Noriko, we have some guests tonight.”

The woman spun around, her cheeks reddening when she realized she hadn’t even seen them. “Oh, dear me, you two are as quiet as a couple foxmice!” she chuckled, shaking her head quickly. Zuko felt himself freeze up. Sure, the Mother of Faces had done her job, and done it well. But those eyes, that voice… that was his mother. Aang wrapped his pinkie around Zuko’s, a subtle movement, but it did a lot to calm him down. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“This is Avatar Aang,” Noren informed. “He came to speak to Rina.”

“Oh!” Noriko gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. She hurriedly formed her hands into the eternal flame, bowing low. Aang chuckled, shaking his head a bit. He folded his hands and bowed in the same matter—though shallower.

“Please, please. No need for the formality,” he hummed. “Did I catch your name—Noriko?”

“You did,” she chuckled, then turning to Zuko. “And you are?”

Momentary panic flashed over Zuko’s features. His eyes met Noren’s, who answered for him. “This is Lee,” he introduced gently, nodding a bit to Zuko. A quiet nod that told him, _we’ll deal with this later_. Zuko returned the motion, letting out a shaky breath.

He folded his hands, bending to bow. “It’s nice to meet you,” he greeted. It was shaky, but only Aang could hear the waver in his voice. Noriko returned the action.

“Wonderful to meet you too. I’m always happy to have company—I hope I haven’t kept you all waiting for too long.”

“You haven’t,” Zuko smiled tightly, and Aang just wanted to let him curl up in his arms right there.

“Wonderful,” Noriko hummed. “Kiyi, would you go ahead and wash the vegetables?”

—

Zuko found he quite liked his apparent half-sister. She was so excited to just _talk_ to him, to babble about theater, to learn about what the cities closer to the capital were like. She’d originally been sitting on his left, but she was talking enough that she and Aang had to swap places so she could be on his good side and he could hear her better. It was so odd—he could see so much of Azula in her, and yet, none at all. Without that seemingly hereditary insanity, he liked to think this is what Azula _would have_ been like.

“Why can’t we just get that kind of stuff in the store?” she whined to her parents. “It would be so cool,” she huffed. Her father smiled gently, tilting his head.

“How about you take it up with the Fire Lord?” He teased, with a sly smile to Zuko. The Lord in question smiled faintly, rolling his eyes.

“Cause the Fire Lord is _scary_ ,” she huffed.

“I don’t know,” Aang wondered with a smile. “He isn’t all that scary. I bet you could talk him into some cool imports.”

“You think?” Kiyi hummed, an excited grin on her fact. After all, the Avatar was always right, wasn’t he?

“Yeah, I do. Maybe I can get a meeting set up for you,” he joked. Zuko kicked his leg, though gently, under the table, just making him laugh more. They all chuckled quietly, though quieted soon enough. Noren coughed quietly, looking down.

“Speaking of the Fire Lord…” he sighed quietly. “There is… something we should all talk about.”

“Oh, dear, don’t tell me that he’s gone and ended up like his father?” Noriko asked, panic clear in her voice.

“Agni, no. No, no.” He sighed softly. “Dear, you know how Princess Ursa is from here? She used to work in our acting troupe?”

“Yes,” she chuckled, though it quickly became uncomfortable. “What’s going on, Noren?”

“Well, she ended up coming back, about fifteen years ago.”

“But noone’s heard from her since she married Ozai.”

“You’re right, no one has,” he nodded. “You see, when she came back… she knew Ozai would kill her if he had the chance. So, she went under another name. But that wasn’t enough, her face was too well known. She visited a spirit called The Mother of Faces. Now, what The Mother of Faces does… she gives humans a new face, a new identity. Sounds perfect, right?”

“Noren, I don’t understand what this has to do with us now.”

“That’s… because,” he sighed. “When The Mother of Faces bestows a new identity, she takes the memories of the old. So, when Ursa visited her, she lost all memories of the castle. Her husband, her children…”

“The Mother of Faces is just a story, though.”

“She’s not,” Aang murmured. “She’s just a lesser known spirit.”

“Okay,” Noriko sighed, clearly frustrated. “And why are we talking about her?”

“Noriko, I want you to think for a minute. Do you have any memories of life before you moved to Hira’a? Your parents? Your childhood? Anything?”

“You’re… you’re not implying that—”

“He is,” Zuko sighed. “You know, when Ursa left, we all thought she was dead—that Ozai killed her. Even her children, we all did.” He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. He reached up to pull his hair halfway up, tying it into a haphazard bun. “And we all just.. accepted that. I mean, he killed his dad, tried to kill his son, why not kill his wife?” He reached into his bag, digging around for his hairpiece. “We came out here to talk to Rina, and ask if she knew where her daughter was. But it was really just as easy as showing up.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t even know you, this is all—”

“You know me,” Zuko found the pin, holding it up and twirling it in his fingers. Both Kiyi and Noriko gasped quietly. “But I guess everyone in this nation knows me, in a way.”

“Zuko, you’re being cryptic again,” Aang murmured.

“How do I not be cryptic with this, Aang? Just, hey, what’s up, you’re actually the estranged princess of the fire nation and I’m your son. Isn’t that exactly what you told me not to do?”

“Well, yes. No— Zuko, just—”

“Wait,” Kiyi interrupted. “Wait, _you’re_ the Fire Lord?!” Zuko smiles some, looking over to her.

“Still think I’m scary?” He chuckled. His eyes flicked back up to Noriko, who was frozen as she took all of this information in. Noren rubbed her back gently, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“I guess it’s time we visit The Mother again.”


	8. We Could.

_I think it may be best if Noriko and I go visit alone,_ Noren had said before they left.

Yeah, no fucking shit.

Zuko had long since tuned out of Aang and Kiyi’s conversation—he was trying to explain the situation in terms she understood. When she grasped it, though, her first question was, “Does that mean I’m a princess?!”

“Uhh,” Aang furrowed his brows. He actually wasn’t sure. “Zuko, hon, is Kiyi a princess or…” he could tell the boy was in a state where he could hear them, but couldn’t comprehend that he was being talked to. “He gets like this sometimes,” Aang explained quietly. “When he’s super stressed with super cool Fire Lord stuff.”

“Is he doing Fire Lord stuff right now?” Kiyi asked.

“You could say that,” he mumbled, pushing himself to stand. He quietly approached Zuko, kneeling behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. Zuko flinched, but just exhaled, looking up once he snapped out of it.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“You doing okay?” Aang asked softly, rubbing his sides gently. “You’re stewing.”

“I’m always stewing,” he mumbled. “Just… anxious, I guess.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No,” he mumbled. “I just… I’m being so irrational. I’m almost afraid she’ll be disappointed in me, somehow. And what will she think of my sister?” He sighed softly. “And what I did to her?”

“Zuko, your only other option was to kill her. You made the right choice. I promise.”

“But what if I didn’t? What if she hates me just as much as father did, now that I’ve…” he rubbed his eyes. “You know what, it’s kind of funny. The last thing she ever told me was not to forget who I am. And look at her now.” Aang scoffed at that.

“Look at me, please?” Zuko complied, albeit with a delay. “She’s your mom. She loves you, you know that. She saved you from your dad.”

“What did mom save you from?” Kiyi interjected. Zuko looked over, sighing softly.

“My father… was not a very nice man. When I was your age, he decided he… he decided he wanted to kill me.”

“...But… he’s your dad. He’s supposed to love you.”

“He’s a piece of—” he caught himself, shaking his head. “Maybe when mother gets her memories back, you can ask her to tell you about it.”

“Why don’t you call her mom?”

“If my father ever caught me referring to her so casually…” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re lucky to have Noren. He… he seems like such a nice man.”

“He is,” she nodded. “He’s your stepdad, right?”

“I… guess. I’m not sure how marriages with fake identities work in a legal sense.” Aang chuckled, sitting down beside him.

“You never answered our question,” he wondered. “Is Kiyi a princess?”

“Technically… no. But I can move some things around,” he hummed. He leaned against Aang’s shoulder, letting out a shaky breath. A beat of silence.

“Do you guys kiss?” Kiyi asked.

“No,” they both said, at the exact same time. More silence.

“We could,” Aang shrugged, his voice close to silent.

“We could?”

“We could.”

“This is news to me.”

“This is also a conversation for later.”

“I agree.” Zuko didn’t pull away from his chest.

“He can only handle three emotions every day,” Aang teased, looking to Kiyi.

“Hey!” Zuko scoffed, hitting his chest.

“Five if you're drunk.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

The conversation was stopped abruptly by the door opening. Noren was supporting Ursa, who was shaky and faint. It didn't stop her from grinning and breaking away when she saw her son.

“ _Zuko_ ,” she gasped, stumbling over to him and falling to her knees before him. She placed her hands on his shoulders when he sat up, and the two just stared at each other for a moment.

Zuko treated the situation like it was a hallucination. Like he was his sister. He carefully reached up to grab her face, almost as if assessing her tangibility. “Mother,” he finally whispered, tears rolling down his unmarked cheek. He pulled her into a suffocating hug, burying his face in her shoulder. He found it funny that, even after all these years, she smelled of fire lilies and rosemary. Sobs racked through his body as she rubbed his back lovingly.

Ursa was the first to pull away. She spent a few moments just looking at him, and after a moment, reached to touch his scar. He flinched rather violently as her thumb ran over the sensitive skin. “Agni, what has he done to you?”

“What he does best,” He forced a laugh, reaching up to wipe his good eye.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry I left you. I'm sorry I left you with him, Agni, I—” she sniffed a bit. “My son…”

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I got banished too, it’s fine.”

“So I heard,” she mumbled. “What… what about your sister?”

Zuko went silent, looking back to Aang. “She’s…um, she’s…”

“She’s safe,” Aang began. “She’s kept securely, so she can't hurt anyone—can't hurt herself. She’s been getting much better lately. We’ve finally found a tincture that stops her hallucinations, so she’s less likely to blow up.” Zuko snarked at his choice of words. “Oh, ha-ha. My scar still tingles at night.”

“Mine does too,” Zuko admitted. “It never goes away.”

“Damn you firebenders,” Aang joked.

“You're a firebender too, you idiot.” Zuko leaned into his mother’s chest, still shaking slightly. “Azula was mostly hallucinating you,” he mumbled to her, “It was hard to watch.”

“I wish I could have taken you both with me,” Ursa sighed. “I'm surprised you ended up sane.”

“I lived with Uncle longer than I lived with Father,” he excused. “Well, sailed with him. He came with me when I was banished.”

Ursa nodded a bit, looking down. “I'm so sorry, Zuko.”

“Hey, I came out without too much trauma.”

“You're the personification of awkward anxiety,” Aang pointed out.

“Shut your mouth.”

“You’d love that until we go back to work.”

“It isn't my fault the council doesn't listen to me.”

The two went silent then, just enjoying the loving atmosphere created in the house.

“I need to go to bed,” Ursa admitted after a while. “I'm exhausted. Can we talk more in the morning?”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded quickly, pulling back and rubbing his eyes. “Yeah. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize.”

“Sorry.”

“ _Zuko_ ,” Aang chuckled. “You need sleep, too. Come on, Appa will be happy to see you. We can come back in the morning while we’re all thinking clearly. Deal?”

“Alright, O Wise Avatar,” Zuko hummed, giving his mother a final squeeze before letting her go. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, son.”

He glanced to Kiyi, then back to Ursa. “Night, mom.”


	9. Ring Home

“What did you mean,” Zuko’s voice was soft, muddled by the sparking of the campfire and Appa’s heavy exhales. “When you were talking to Kiyi?”

Aang was sitting on Appa’s tail, his back supported by the plush fur there, his legs folded into a lotus. Zuko was lying in front of him with his head in his lap, staring at the fire and doing tricks with sparks to entertain himself. He felt Aang sigh, and he could hear that damned soft smile on his face.

“You're not very good at emotions, Zuko,” it wasn't said with any malice. But it was just a fact, and Zuko only nodded. He closed his eyes, letting his hands fall onto his waist, rolling his shoulders back a bit. “I've been in love with you for years. And I had the feeling that you did the same. But I wanted to wait until you came to terms with it—or anything, if that makes sense. You deal with love in a very funny way.”

“I do?”

“You do,” he nodded. “You don't realize it. Not with this, not with friends, your uncle—we have to learn to read you and how you operate. We’ve all learned to see how you tell us you love us, because we all know you'll never say it.” Aang looked down to Zuko, pushing some hair from his face. “But from your reaction, I'm assuming I was reading the situation correctly.”

“...I guess you were,” he mumbled. “I could feel it in your fire,” he mused, “that you were using that specific passion for it… but I didn't understand what exactly it was.”

“Is that why you missed?”

“Caught me off guard.”

Aang nodded a bit, gently rubbing his brow bone in a soothing motion. “You manage to make me so happy, Zuko, even when you aren't trying. Even just watching you talk to Kiyi, watching you hug your mother. Kyoshi teases me about how deep I've gotten myself into this.”

“I'm…” he sighed gently. “I'm sorry I'm so bad at emotions.”

“It doesn't matter now,” he assured. “We got there eventually, didn't we?” He cooed. He leaned down, pressing a faint kiss to his scarred cheek. He felt him go red, a happy little shiver shaking his body. Aang laughed a bit, tilting his head.

Aang had spent a long time over the past decade figuring out all the ins and outs of Zuko’s love language. It was the inflection of his tone, the curve of his smile, the pitch of his laugh. Shivers and shaking hands, gifts, it was easy to spot when he knew what to look for.

“So… you said we could kiss?” Zuko asked softly.

“Did I?” He mused, tapping his lips in teasing thought.

“Don't start this,” he groaned, covering his face. “Just give me an answer.”

“I know,” he chuckled, shifting around so when he bent down, he could reach Zuko’s lips. He brushed his own against them faintly, feeling Zuko smile below him. The latter tilted his chin up, reaching up to gently take his cheek in his hand.

“Thank you,” it was barely a ghost of a whisper. “For waiting for me.”

“Yeah,” Aang chuckled. “Now, get some sleep. It will be a long flight back in the morning.”

—

Zuko didn’t bother getting into his royal robes the next day, but he did do his hair properly and wear his crown. He disliked how differently he was treated, but for the most part, it was fine. The one thing he really enjoyed was that, when they all went to Hira’a’s local market, no one argued when he insisted on paying them.

Kiyi was the most excited about the little excursion. Zuko quickly found out the family didn't have a lot of money, and she had only had one toy in her life. However, soft as he was, Zuko couldn't say no whenever she asked for something.

There was a certain porcelain doll that had caught her eye, with a small silk organza dress held to the plush body by a brass belt. Noren immediately told her that it was too expensive and she would break it, so she stared at it for a moment before running to grab Zuko’s hand.

The Fire Lord had been talking with the shop owner over a finely crafted tea set, remembering how his Uncle had said he wanted a floral pot. Kiyi grabbed the edge of his tunic, tugging it a bit. “Zuko! Zuko, come look at this!” She hummed happily.

Zuko chuckled softly, shooting the owner an apologetic look before allowing her to drag him away. She pointed up to the door, which she couldn't reach, still smiling wide. He grabbed it off of the shelf, squatting down to her height. “She's pretty, isn't she?”

“Dad said I would break it,” she sighed, “but she’s so pretty. Look at her hair!”

“She would be easy to break,” he agreed, turning the doll over in his hands. “I'll tell you what. You can have her, but if you _do_ break her, you have to promise me you won't cry. Deal?”

“Yes!” She cheered, jumping slightly. He laughed softly, pressing the doll into her hands. He caught Noren’s eyes behind her, who just smiled and shook his head. He shrugged apologetically, rising to stand. He returned to the shop owner, untying his coin bag from his belt.

“How much for the doll?” He asked.

“Oh,” he hummed, looking over at Kiyi, smiling softly. “She’s twenty gold pieces.”

“Cool,” he hummed, beginning to count out the coins. He got twenty-five, placing them into the other’s hand. “Thank you.”

“I'll always be happy to take your business,” he hummed, bowing lowly. Zuko laughed softly, nodding a bit.

He exited the stall to stand with Noren, Ursa and Aang, who were chatting about properly adult things like the weather and travel. Noren immediately broke the conversation when his stepson came over, folding his arms. “You're going to spoil her.”

“I'm really bad at saying no to kids,” Zuko admitted, making Aang nod quickly with a grin.

“He even did that when he was trying to kill me,” he teased, punching his arm gently.

“Fuck off,” he rolled his eyes with a grin. “Things I did in Ba Sing Se do _not_ count.”

“No, no, it totally does. Come on, you saved my life at least ten times.”

“That was— you know what, never mind. I recant every statement I have ever made in the past decade, I wish I would have let you die.”

“You love me.”

“Pretty cocky for a monk.”

“You love me.”

The sentiment effectively got Zuko to shut up, forcing his cheeks to flare red. He folded his arms, rolling his eyes and looking away. Ursa looked between her son and the Avatar, a small smile twitching on her lips when she caught on to what exactly was going on.

Kiyi came back after a moment, holding up her brand new doll proudly. “Dad, dad, look! Look what Zuzu got for me!”

At the nickname, Zuko, Ursa, and Aang all froze up, looking uncomfortably between each other. “Where… did she pick that up?” Aang asked carefully.

“I’m not sure,” Ursa mumbled.

“It’s a lot better coming from her,” Zuko folded his arms, looking away.

“Still not the most pleasant thing to hear,” Aang rubbed Zuko’s back gently, looking away.

“What’s all this?” Noren asked. The three shifted, Zuko shaking his head.

“My sister,” Zuko said simply.

“She’s… not the nicest,” Aang explained carefully.

“ _Not the nicest_ ,” Zuko repeated, scoffing softly. Kiyi was staring p at the adults, her brows furrowed.

“Is she mean?”

“I… yeah, she’s mean.”

“What did she do?” She asked curiously—it was an innocent question, really. But Aang could feel Zuko tense up, a shiver shooting up his spine as his hand flew to his chest to rest over his lightning scar.

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he managed, forcing a smile. “Can we go eat, or something?”

Ursa nodded quickly, taking her daughter’s hand. “Yes—come on, Kiyi, let’s show them the noodle shop, okay?”

“Okay!” Kiyi hummed, a skip in her step as the group continued down the market street.

Though, the violent life of the castle didn’t escape them for long, as a messenger hawk cried out as it approached the village. Zuko looked up, frowning as he recognized it as his own royal bird. “Shit,” he muttered, extending his arm for him to land on. It circled once or twice before descending down, landing on his forearm with its free foot, holding out the scroll with its other.

Zuko extracted the parchment, gently untying the ribbon and letting it furl open, his eyes skimmed over the frantic writing, his smile falling fast.

“Aang—” he began, “Aang, we have to go.” he flicked his wrist to release the bird, watching it leave. “We have to go, _now_.”

“What happened?” he asked, watching as he crumpled his skull up.

“Loyalists—” Zuko shook his head. “Sora and Mazow are dead— the girls are toast by dawn. _we need to go_.”

“We’re coming too,” Ursa immediately replied.

“Mother, no,” Zuko shook his head. “You don’t understand. Father’s followers are ruthless. They’ll kill you.”

“They’ll kill you too, Zuko. I’m not letting you go alone.”

“I’m not going to be alone,” he began, starting back to the north side of the city where Appa was. “I’ll have Aang and the Kyoshi warriors—and Uncle is on his way. I’ll be okay.”

“Zuko,” Aang began, running after him. “It might be a good idea—to let her come. Even if it’s just for a political stand.”

“Aang, I don’t think this is something I’ll be dissuaded by—”

“Zuko.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, but Zuko finally broke.

“Fine! Fine, okay. Only because we don’t have time to argue about this any further. So, _come on,_ ” he hissed. “Before they burn the palace to the ground.”


	10. Panic Attack

Kiyi was much too engrossed in hanging off of Appa’s saddle, watching the ground whip by, to be perturbed by her brother— _The Fire Lord_ —having a breakdown. Zuko was pacing (though Aang yanked him down so he wouldn’t go flying when Appa inevitably hit rough air), rubbing his face, tapping his feet. There were tears lining his eyes and he was far too warm. When he was safely sitting down across from the Avatar, he couldn’t stop fidgeting and looking around at the cloudy nothingness of the sky.

“ _Zuko _.” Aang’s voice was firm, authoritative, but there was nothing but concern backing it. No sharp edge, no malice. “Zuko, look at me.” He took either side of his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Take a breath.”__

“I’m taking _lots of breaths, _Aang, and the only thing it’s doing is making me spark,” he countered.__

“You’re not breathing, you’re hyperventilating. Slow down.”

“Aang, I’m fucking panicking,” he rambled, hushed tones so Kiyi wouldn’t hear. “What if they kill more of my staff? What if they get to him? Let him out? _What if he gets out?_ ”

“You have the only key,” he replied calmly, voice level. He stared at him for a moment, watching as he finally broke, letting a few simmering tears roll down his cheek. He let his head fall forward into his hands, not seeming to calm down at all when Aang pulled him close.

“It’s been years, why am I still dealing with this?” Zuko whispered. “For fuck’s sake, I’ve been on the throne longer than he was—” he drew in a haggard breath, “when will it end?”

“It won’t, and you know that,” he mumbled, digging his fingers into his hair to run his nails against Zuko’s scalp. “There will always be people who want war, who just can’t deal with the world you’re creating. They’re not making money off death anymore, and they’re angry.”

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, looking up to Aang.

“Zuko.”

“ _Aang._ ”

The Avatar let out a heady sigh, leaning forward to press a kiss to the peak of Zuko’s hairline. He seemed to relax, if only a bit, below his lips, letting himself lean helplessly into the other.

“I hate my job,” he joked weakly, reaching up to rub his eye. Aang laughed softly, looking down at him.

“Is that so?” He mused. “I think you’re a little better than the past few bosses.”

“Thanks,” he chuckled, the sound broken and interspersed with catches in his breath. “Think today’s the day they finally kill me?”

“That who kills you?”

Neither of them had noticed Kiyi plop herself right beside them, her eyebrows knitted in concern. “Why do people want to kill you?”

Zuko shot to sit up, quickly wiping his eyes. “Because they liked my dad better than me,” he muttered. “Because they don’t like how I’m running the country.”

“I think you’re doing well!”

“Thanks,” he laughed weakly.

“You live with a lot of mean people.”

“I do.”

“Can you tell me about your other sister?”

Aang tightened his grip on Zuko. Talking about Azula seemed to be the last thing he needed right now. However, he only sighed gently, sitting up some.

“Her name is Azula,” he began. “She’s only two years younger than me. She never really liked me. Or mother, for that matter. She didn’t like that I was going to be the Fire Lord, and not her. My Father likes her, though. Because she’s a good bender and got our hereditary sociopathy.”

“Got your what what?”

“It’s a sickness in your mind that makes you really mean if you don’t get help. It runs in our family. My great grandpa, my grandpa, my dad, and her all had it. My father was upset I didn’t have it, because he saw it as a weakness. So he liked Azula a lot more. Because she couldn’t be sad that the war was killing people. I could—I was.” He rubbed his temples gently. “I am.”

“Why did mom marry such a mean man?”

“She didn’t want to,” he glanced over to Ursa. “She was going to marry a really nice man named Ikem, but then my grandpa showed up and told her she had to marry my father. Because her grandpa was the Avatar, the one before Aang. So they took her and they killed Ikem.” He leaned back on his hand. “Well, my father says they killed him. But he also said he killed our mother. He lies a lot.” He shook his head. “Azula—anyways—was going to be the Fire Lord after father kicked me out of the country. When she found out that I might have come back, she came to kill me and Aang. We both have pretty bad scars from when she shot us with lightning.” He gently touched his chest, looking away. “She’s been getting help, lately. We gave her a special coat so she can’t hurt anyone or herself. And we gave her medicine and someone to help her. She’s getting better.” He let out a sigh through his nose, smoke following. “The loyalists—the guys attacking the castle right now—they want her on the throne. Because she’s just like our father.”

There was a stint of silence.

“That sucks.”

Aang and Zuko began laughing, each nodding some. “Yeah,” Aang hummed, “it does. But it isn’t anything Zuko can’t handle. One time, there were six guys that got into his room to try to kill him, and he beat them all while he was still half asleep.”

“You’re being generous—I broke my leg.”

“And you broke their skulls,” Aang shrugged, nonchalant about it.

“There are a lot of people who want to kill you,” Kiyi wondered.

“So is politics.”

“I don’t think I want to be a princess anymore.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Zuko chuckled softly. He looked over to his mother, who had tuned in when they started talking about Azula.

“Why did he banish you, anyways?”

“Well, you know, he wanted me out of the line of succession. But his excuse was that I wouldn’t fight him in an Agni Kai.”

“ _He challenged you to an Agni Kai?! _”__

“For speaking out of turn in a war meeting. And you know, I refused to fight him. And he saw that as a massive slap in the face. So he… gave me a slap in the face right back. With Fire.” He gestured vaguely at his scar.

“Oh,” she whispered, scooting towards her son, “spirits…”

“So, I woke up on a boat, with uncle and a crew of deserters. He had written me a scroll saying I could only come back if I captured the Avatar and brought him to kill him. So I tried to do that for a few years, but you know. You can see how that ended,” he gestured to Aang, who punctuated the whole thing by leaning over and kissing his cheek. “Hey!” Zuko gasped, batting him away. He only giggled. Ursa had to sigh, happy that Zuko got something out of the traumatic experience.

Aang took Zuko's hands, glad that he was calmed down from the panic attack of their impending fight.

The panic could come later.


	11. Blood and Soot

Aang, in all honesty, was not surprised at how quickly Zuko abandoned them upon landing. He was off of Appa and sprinting towards the palace in a snap moment, leaving the rest behind. He knew he could handle this for now, and he was more useful getting the family to safety, so he stayed behind.

When Appa was safe, and unpacked, the four began back towards the courtyard, with Aang on high alert. However, when they got there, it was just Zuko, several dead bodies, and one other loyalist that was still fighting for her life. His dao were separated, stuck in two bloodied assassins on either side of the yard. Aang pressed his lips together, quickly covering Kiyi’s eyes as the remaining attacker was lit up like a grill. He coughed at the familiar sweet scent of burning flesh, delivering Kiyi to her mother to run over to Zuko.

He gathered some water from the aqueducts to extinguish the flames surrounding them, calming the smell and deafening roar that filled his ears. “Zuko?” He asked. “Zuko, are you okay? Can you hear me?” He ran around to his good side. “Zuko?”

The Fire Lord jumped, sighing softly. His cheek was sooty, face bloodied, obviously shell shocked. “What?” He asked.

“Zuko, are you alright?” He slowly placed a hand on his shoulder, frowning when he flinched. He only shrugged.

“Fuck if I know,” he muttered. “I don't… don't know how many there are, I…” he shook his head.

“Come on, let’s pull a sweep. I'll stay with you, okay?” He pressed a rushed kiss to his right temple, taking his hands. “Honey, look at me.”

“Yeah, yeah—” he shook his head. “Fuck. Yeah.” He pulled away from Aang, running to grab his swords from where they lay. He wiped the blood from the blades on his pants, putting them back together to jog back to the castle. He slid it through his belt, lighting up his hands as he began a walkthrough.

As they gathered the remaining Kyoshi Warriors and castle staff, dispatching any remaining attackers, Zuko seemed to calm down, just a bit. The majority of the castle was fine, but there were still holding cells. Which was what really scared him. Aang noted the nervous pulling and fiddling of his fingers, gently grabbing his hands and pressing his thumbs into his palms. “Hey, it’s fine. We’ve gotten most of them.”

“You don't know that,” Zuko muttered.

And, yeah, most of them were crowded around Ozai’s cell, trying to break him out. The former Fire Lord was lounging towards the back of the cell, knowing they wouldn't get it open, but appreciating it nonetheless.

“Hey!” Aang called, grabbing his staff. He spun it once or twice to build a current before bringing it down before him, knocking a majority of the loyalists back from the cells. While Zuko set to killing them, as Aang still had gripes with ending others’ lives, the Avatar went to make sure the lock was still secure, deliberately ignoring the sound of dropping bodies behind him.

“They made a valiant effort,” Ozai wondered, earning nothing but a glare from the Avatar.

By the time Ursa and her family had made it to where Zuko and Aang were, the danger had passed, rather formed in corpses lying about the hall. Zuko spat on the ground, nothing but blood at this point. Aang sighed as he watched, looking over to the others. “That should be all of them..” He shrugged. He jumped over bodies to get back to Zuko, one hand on his jaw, the other on his waist. “Hey, hon, are you okay?” He whispered.

“I hurt,” he muttered, reaching up to rub his eyes. “Everywhere…”

“I know,” he mumbled. At least he was talking—no psychotic break today. He rubbed his thumb over his cheek, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Zuko didn't kiss back, and he tasted like blood, but he seemed grateful for the reassurance.

“So,” Ozai’s voice broke the relative silence of the dungeon. “You finally found her. You traitorous little snake.”

The two looked over, watching as Ursa broke away from her husband and daughter to approach him. “Ozai,” she greeted simply. “I see our son has kept you alive. That seems a little much to me, hm?”

“He’s no son of mine,” Ozai scoffed. “He’s a sniveling little rat that shouldn't even be on the throne.”

“Ouch,” Zuko muttered, adjusting his crown. “Love you too, father.”

“Don’t speak to me,” Ozai snapped, finally sitting up.

“You have a lot of nerve to talk to him like that,” Ursa sniffed, folding her arms. “It’s so funny, you know. I'm finally seeing you, Ozai. You're such a small, _small_ man. And you've done nothing but try to seem big and scary. But your heart has no room for your son, your daughter, your wife… even yourself.” She scoffed quietly. “I hope Zuko kills you, one day.”

“He’s too weak to do even that.”

“I could execute you, if I really wanted to,” Zuko interjected, wiping blood from his hands. “It’s not all mercy, keeping you alive. Some of me just wants to revel in the fact that you were beaten by a child, stripped of all power, and shriveled away in a cell.”

“Zuko,” Aang interrupted quietly. “I don't think Kiyi should be hearing all of this.”

Zuko looked back to his sister, then to Aang. “Right— right. Sorry,” he mumbled. “We should go check on Azula.”

“Probably,” he agreed, taking his hand. “Come on, I don't like you being down here with him,” he admitted quietly.

Zuko nodded, squeezing Aang’s hand gently as he led him to the exit. He didn't allow Kiyi to take his other hand, not wanting her to have to touch the blood and soot on his fingers. And he didn't look to see her disappointment as they left.

“Do I get to meet Azula?” Kiyi asked, letting go of her dad’s hand to run ahead and walk with Zuko.

“Maybe,” he muttered. “She might not be stable right now. She certainly won't be stable if she sees mother. I… you can see her, but I don't think I'll let you get close to her, how’s that?”

“Okay,” she shrugged, not wanting any more elaboration.

There were no loyalists in her room. She was still safely in her cell, her feet propped up as she read a book. When she heard the door open to the area before her cell, where there was only glass separating them, she didn't even look up. It was an odd setup, here, a room with no flammable material, connected by a wall of glass to a room where her medications were stored, where her visitors could sit, safely separated from her.

“Zuzu?” She called. “I thought you weren't coming back until Sunday.”

“Loyalists,” he answered shortly, retrieving the key from his belt. He didn't bother just speaking to her through the glass, rounding the corner to enter the cell. “Are you okay?”

Azula peered over the top of her book, raising a brow. “That’s a lot of blood, brother,” she commented as he entered.

“There were a lot,” he muttered. “Did any of them get in here?” He asked, not quite closing the door behind him. She set down her book, standing up to approach him.

“If they did, I didn't hear,” she shrugged nonchalantly.”

“Good,” he sighed, wrapping her in a gentle hug. “I don't know how they feel about you anymore.”

She didn't hug back, just standing and letting him do so. She glanced over his shoulder, out to the sitting area, and froze up. “Zuzu,” she croaked, “I think they forgot to give me my medicine today.”

“Why?” He asked, pulling back to check her over. “Are you feeling sick? Are you cold?”

“No,” she sounded… scared. “I see mom.”


	12. Tangibility

Azula wasn’t _crazy_. Not anymore. She was an adult now, she was on steady medicine, got lots of therapy. Feasibly, she could return to the outside world any time she pleased—she could pass the examination, she hadn’t had an outburst in years. But as soon as she saw her mother, she felt the cold hands of her all too familiar paranoia scratch at the very edges of her mind. Her memories flickered back to her first break, on the eve of her would-be coronation, when she saw her mother in the mirror. She couldn't make out what she had been saying. Had she said “I love you, Azula, I do,” or “I hate you”? Why was she here? _Why was she back?_ What did she want?

She didn't notice she was shaking until she could finally hear Zuko again. “Azula,” he tried, snapping his fingers. She watched as a few sparks flew from where his fingers touched, blinking several times as her focus shifted back to who she _knew_ was real. Zuko, who was touching her, who was speaking, she knew he was real. Aang was standing by the door. She had no proof he wasn't a figment of her imagination, but he was normally here when Zuko came to visit for something more than their weekly meals. “Azula, look at me.”

“I'm losing it again, aren't I?” She asked with a terrified smile, reaching up to touch her face. “Because I _did_ — I took my medicine today. I drank it with breakfast. Zuko, I—”

“ _Azula_. Zuko’s voice was firm, almost grounding, in a way. “Azula, she’s here—real.”

“...What?”

“Sorry, I know this is a lot of shit to take in at once. I went to Hira’a to find Roku’s daughter—grandmother. That's where we were. We found her. She came back with us when we had to run back with the attack.”

“No…” Azula shook her head quickly. “No, she’s dead. Father said so! She's dead! Stop lying to me!”

“Azula, have I ever lied to you?” He asked softly, holding her wrists. “You don't have to see her, if you don't want to.”

Azula looked over to Ursa, staring for a solid two minutes. “I don't want her in here,” she finally decided. “Keep her out there… I'll talk to her, but keep her out there.”

“Yeah, of course,” he promised. “Do you want me to stay in here?”

“I—no, no. I don't want to hurt you if I freak out,” she mumbled. Zuko sighed gently, nodding and letting go of her. He turned on his heel, back towards the door.

“You're okay, Azula. She’s real,” he reiterated, closing and locking the door behind him. As he rejoined Aang, to allow the two to talk, his exhaustion finally caught up with him. He put his face in the other’s shoulder, letting out a heady sigh as he leaned most of his weight against him. He listened as Aang took in a long breath, then out, tickling his ear a bit.

“You holding up?”

“Not really,” Zuko mumbled, closing his eyes.

“Do you want to eat, or do you want to sleep?”

“I don't know,” he admitted, closing his eyes with a shiver. “Fuck. I don't know. I want to know where Uncle is—that’s what I want.”

“Ba Sing Se is far. He probably won't be here for a while…” he rubbed Zuko’s back slowly, closing his eyes. “I think a nap would be good.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, glancing up at him. He pressed a shaky kiss to the curve of Aang’s shoulder, just where he could reach. He could feel Aang’s muscles tug as he smiled, causing him to copy the reaction.

Aang gently pulled back, slowly leading him back over to the others. Azula had ended up too paranoid to finish the conversation, leaving a frown on her mother’s face. Zuko patted her shoulder a bit. “Don't take it too seriously… she’s just scared. She's not too sure of her own sanity.”

“I know, I know. It just…” she sighed. “I did this to her.”

“Father did this to her,” Zuko quickly corrected. “Father did, not you.”

She sighed, shrugging and shaking her head. “I…” she flapped her hands vaguely. “I'm going to get Kiyi settled into a room. If that’s okay with you.”

“You don't need to ask permission for anything, you know.”

She smiled faintly, wrapping her son in a hug. “You're a much better man than he ever was,” she whispered.

—

Zuko could hear Aang heat up the bath water in his bathroom as he removed his regalia. He smiled gently as he set down his crown, procuring a comb to rid the knots that had formed while he fought. Much of his hair was matted with dirt and ash, to his chagrin, and wouldn't allow the comb to pass through it. _Fuck it,_ he wondered, _I'll brush it once I've washed it._

“Thank you for running the water for me,” Zuko called, taking off the outermost layers, belts, and sachets, letting them all fall onto the ground. He’d be pissed at himself later for not putting them away properly, but for now, he just wanted to sit down.

“Always,” Aang hummed, looking back to him. “I let it boil for a second, so it might be a little warm.”

“You’re fine,” he murmured, sighing softly.

“I'll wait outside?” Aang hummed. “Or like, I can just head to bed. Whatever.”

“Actually—” Zuko began, playing at the edge of his sleeve for a moment. He seemed to melt away from whatever he was going to ask, before just asking anyways. “Could you stay, maybe?” He asked quietly. “I'm just. Thinking too much. I'll…” he shook his head. “I don't know.”

Aang rolled his eyes with a gentle smile, tilting his head. “Yeah, I can stay. Go ahead and get in, I'm gonna go grab some stuff to shave.”

Zuko nodded a bit, smiling in a rather relieved manner as he watched Aang leave. He untied the last of his fastenings, dropping his clothes in the hamper. He caught himself in the mirror, sighing gently as he looked at his chest scar. He watched his reflection as he ghosted his fingers over the marred tissue. He’d taken nearly a decade to come to terms with the scar that covered most of his face. He’d had to—he couldn't hide it. But this one… he never had to really look at it, so he never had to make himself be okay with it. He quickly looked away, stepping into the basin and slowly sinking down into the water.

He slipped down to where only his nose and eyes were exposed, curling his knees to his chest below the water. Even with all the pain he had caused him, heat was always more of a comforter than a traumatic trigger. He could feel it sleep down into his bones, loosening up his muscles. He didn't realize how tense he had been holding himself lately.

He opened his eyes, if only a bit, when Aang reentered the washroom, a bottle of oil and a razor to remove the short fuzz that had coated his head lately. He had to smile when he stepped in, shaking his head a bit when he saw Zuko’s eyes peering at him from over the edge of the basin. “Crocodile,” he teased, sitting down in front of the mirror.

Zuko sat up, smiling faintly. “Something like that,” he shrugged. He grabbed the tall bottle of cloudy water on the edge of the basin, popping out the cork and pouring it over his head. When his hair was soaked with the stuff, he set down the bottle to rub the rice water into his scalp. Dirt and soot and blood tainted the water around him as it was washed away, a few dunks under the water washing it completely out. He used the same liquid to wash off his arms, before folding them over his chest to simply soak.

Aang had deposited a fair bit of the shaving oil on his head, filling the washroom with the scent of sandalwood and amber. Zuko hung over the edge of the basin to watch him, his chin resting on his wrist.

“How much did it hurt to get all of your tattoos?” He asked softly.

“A lot,” he chuckled. “The artist has a long needle she dips in ink, and gives you little pokes all over. It takes a few passes to get a solid color, so it took like, a week.”

“Jeez,” he huffed. “Sounds...not worth it.”

“You guys have anything like that in your culture?” He asked thoughtfully, tapping his lips.

“I feel like we used to,” he shrugged. “But, fuck if I know.” He pulled the plug from the basin’s drain, snatching a towel off of a wall hook to wring out his hair. When there was no more water in the tub, he wrapped it around himself, sighing gently.

“Thanks for… staying with me.”

“No problem, hotman.”

He groaned. “Alright, that’s the line. Out.”

Aang just smiled, shaking his head.


End file.
